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EIGHT::
Ishida settled in his desk and folded his sweater up around his arms. Midterms were nearing and his economics class had dwindled from about thirty-five to a mere eleven. He would bet good money that the number would drop to nine by the end of the test.
He set his chin on the fluffy sweater and listened to the drone of the professor's voice, the clack-clack-clack-slide-click of the chalk on the board. Renji would be starting work in only a few hours. Ishida picked out his clothing the night before and wished him luck. Now, he felt his stomach twist up in knots and he wondered what he could have possibly been thinking, taking Renji to that place.
No one else would hire him with all those tattoos, he reasoned with himself. It was true enough; business owners got nervous around young guys with lots of tattoos. Those sorts of markings usually meant gangs or Yakuza, and no one wanted that kind of attention.
I could have taken him to a bar, Ishida argued peevishly.
Yeah, right. The Broken Pony?
He winced and reminded himself that arguing with his own inner voice was the first step down the road to true madness.
He was normally asleep by then, but he couldn't convince himself to do it. His eyes kept straying to the clock; each tick of the second hand seemed like a nail in the coffin.
Maybe it will be okay. Juro wouldn't just tell Renji anything. He's a pretty secretive guy.
That was all true as well, but he could feel his secrets burning into his skin like acid. They burned the way Kurosaki's spiritual pressure burned until he could hardly tell the difference between the imagined pain and the very real throbbing in his right arm. Slipping one finger into his right sleeve, he pulled the cuff back to peer at his arm and winced. The bruising was the worst around his wrist; the splotchy blue patches from Kurosaki's reiatsu, the angry red marks from trying (and failing) to summon up a steady bow, and the broad yellow-purple-blue bands where he'd squeezed his own arm too hard. He traced one finger mark and sighed.
"Ishida-san!"
Ishida jumped and plunged his arm back into the folds of his sweater. His cheeks infused with heat and he kicked himself for forgetting he was in class and there were other people around. That he was in the class.
The he in question was standing in front of his desk with a dark look on his face that made Ishida nervous. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat, discretely pushing his sleeve back down.
"Yes, Daishi-san?"
Daishi shook himself a little. His expression cleared forcefully and he tore his eyes away from Ishida. His gaze wandered somewhere around the frame of the door. "Still have time to go over the notes with me?" he asked without looking back at Ishida.
Ishida realized that he must have seen the bruises and decided to ignore the realization. Nothing of what he did or what was going on with his life was James Daishi's business. He stood, throwing his shoulders back and straightening up. He used to stand that way as a matter of course, had perfect posture thanks to his father's patient tutelage. The tightening across his chest and shoulders pointed out that his posture had been less than perfect lately. He vowed to correct it and gathered his things.
"Sure. Let's go to the library." He lead the way and Daishi followed without a word.
Daishi picked up an innocuous conversation once they were outside. Ishida payed attention with half an ear, interjecting the necessary noises and nods where they were called for. His mind was glued to his watch, his head rang with the tolling of the clock tower bell. It was after noon and Renji should be walking into the tattoo parlor. At least he'd better be, or Ishida would kill him for being late.
Now you want him to have the job? that snide little voice asked.
Shut up.
I'm not to the one talking to myself.
If I'm talking to myself, you're talking to yourself, so shut up!
There was silence and Ishida felt his cheeks warm up under his own stupidity. I really am losing my mind.
Daishi lead him to a table on the lower floor and Ishida settled in, turning his mind resolutely to the task at hand: forcing some semblance of understanding into James Daishi's thick head.
~I~I~
Tattoo. The signed blinked at him. Tattoo. Tattoo. Tattoo. T-Tattoo.
Chad was still standing beside him. It made him feel better, and the realization that it made him feel better made him realize that he was nervous. More nervous, maybe, than the first time he'd asked for Ikkaku's help in training, more nervous than the first time he'd sparred with Kenpachi. Maybe even more nervous than the first time he'd put on the lieutenant's badge and steeled himself to look up at Kuchiki-taichou's face.
"Don't you have work to go to, too?" he grumbled.
Chad glanced down the street and Renji gave him a once over. He and Chad couldn't have been dressed more differently for all that they were wearing the same colors. Black pants, white shirts, black shoes. The difference? Chad was wearing a perfectly pressed dress shirt, each little black button done up, even the ones on his cuffs. His black pants were pressed slacks (that, Renji had to admit, looked pretty fucking good on the guy) and his shoes were shiny and clicked on the pavement.
Chad was dressed that way because he'd gotten his job at the restaurant as a waiter. A pretty nice restaurant as it turned out.
Renji, on the other hand, had been forced to lay flat on his back to get into the tight leather pants Ishida picked out for him. They had silver paint across the ass and down one leg. They also clung weirdly and pulled at the hairs on his legs and were not comfortable. Further, he was wearing a white tank that was perfectly see through and was -according to the bag with its four rolled-up brothers- an undergarment.
He was dressed in such a way because Uryuu Ishida was the goddamned devil.
Renji pushed the big man's shoulder, aware that Chad had to be at work in little more than half an hour and the restaurant was several blocks away. "See ya!" He pushed into the tattoo shop without looking back. He wasn't worried that Chad wouldn't make it there in time – the man's ground devouring strides would probably get him there at a leisurely walk faster than most people could run.
The little bell over the door chimed and Renji steeled himself like he expected someone to come charging at him with zanpakutou in hand.
"Don't hover."
Renji almost jumped. "I'm not hovering!"
Juro was seated on one of the padded chairs with his booted feet up. He glanced up and gave Renji a once over. His thin lips quirked up and he turned the page in his magazine. "I see that Ishida-kun got a hold of you this morning. That man does know what looks good on a body, doesn't he?"
Renji wanted to snarl what makes you think he picked it out? but he was acutely aware that saying so would be implying that he'd picked it out, and that would to go over about as well as a cricket in a snake pen. He settled for glaring.
"There's a broom in the back closet. Drop your shit off at the front desk and go find it."
His right eye twitched and he took a slow breath. He used to have to clean Eleventh Division headquarters when he was brand new to the squad. He could clean a tattoo shop. He could.
When I find out who's fucking with me in Supply, me and Zabi are gonna be having a little chat with them...
~I~I~
It was almost time for him to leave when the first customer came in. Renji looked up from the large binder of pre-drawn tattoos.
The first thing he saw was cleavage. Rangiku-sized cleavage. He backed up quickly, a faint blush touching his cheeks. The woman was leaning on the counter with her massive breasts settled on her arms. She smiled at him, her straight midnight black hair trailing over her shoulders to brush against the counter. Her (very low cut) pink tee shirt was all but completely see through, clearly displaying her pattered bra. One arm was decorated with a delicate trail of cherry blossoms and she had a tiny blue star tattooed under her left eye.
"You new, honey?"
Renji coughed. "Yeah."
"How long have you been begging and clawing to get in here, hm? Juro-kun doesn't take on apprentices all the time. Unless you're my Sumisu's?"
His brows drew together, but before he could answer, Roland Smith pushed through the beaded curtain in the back.
"Sumisu-chan!" She abandoned the front counter and bounced back to the tall tattooist.
Renji's head tipped all on its own and he found himself contemplating the hem of her shorts. Were those shorts at all or was she running around in undergarments? He couldn't really tell, but he was leaning towards the latter as the shorts rode up high enough to display the lower curve of her buttocks. Her very nice buttocks.
Smith's big hand landed on her ass with a resounding crack and she squeaked. Renji jumped a little from the sound and then blushed when Smith's hand curled into two fingers and jerked upwards. Renji tore his eyes away from the tantalizing curve of her ass and sheepishly met his gaze.
Man, if looks could kill...
"Are those the dulcet tones of darling Sasemi-chan that I detect?" Juro asked. He peaked his head out of his office and smiled. His braid dangled over his shoulder like a pendulum for a moment before he straightened and glided into the room. It was unnerving how smooth and quiet he moved, even in his outrageous spiked boots.
"Oh, Juro-kun! You flatterer." She wiggled out of Smith's arms and skipped around him to lay a kiss on Juro's cheek.
He put a hand to his chest and feigned a swoon, fanning himself with one hand. "Certainly, I've died and gone to some amazing heaven!"
Sasemi giggled and slapped him playfully on one arm. "Flirt!" She wrapped one arm around his and played with a little white button on his shirt. "Juro-kun, can you do my breasts today?"
Renji almost fell off his stool. Smith glowered at him. Juro laughed, his perceptive eyes locked onto Renji's shocked face.
"I would ask Sumisu-chan, but you know how Sumisu-chan is about doing me," she pouted.
Juro laughed again. He had a surprisingly deep laugh for all that his speaking voice was normally pretty high. "Indeed, I do know how our dear Sumisu-chan is about doingyou."
I cannot believe this conversation is actually happening. No one talks like this... not even Rangiku!
He caught a hint of motion and had to force himself not to spin away from it. He could feel his hip tingling where Zabimaru usually rested and clutched his stool so he could pretend obliviousness. Despite seeing Smith coming, he was still startled when a giant hand landed on the back of his neck. The man was literally growling as he propelled Renji off the stool and towards the door, scruffing him like a naughty puppy the whole way. Renji was barely able to swipe his pack up before he ran bodily into the door.
"Come back Thursday!" Juro called.
The door opened and Renji stumbled onto the sidewalk. He caught himself and spun just in time to see the sign on the door flip to "Closed" and hear the click of the lock.
"Fucking weird," Renji complained under his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around surreptitiously before adjusting his damnable pants. They'd actually loosened up over the course of the day and no longer felt quite so uncomfortable, but they were still about five sizes too small.
He dragged his bag over his shoulder and started the walk back to the school. It was chilly and the cold wind bit right through his flimsy undergarment tank and made his nipples hard. A fact which he was sure everyone who passed him saw instantly. He cursed himself for forgetting the black jacket Ishida laid out for him the night before, and then cursed all of Hueco Mundo and its population of hungry hollows for not being able to ramp up his reiatsu to compensate for the chill. While he was at it, he cursed the whole of the Soul Society for setting the rule; he could take care of any damn hollows that showed up!
All-in-all, the day wasn't shaping up to be one of the best in recent memory. But since he had such a good head of steam... Renji stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and dug out his silver cell phone. He flipped it open and scrolled through the entries until he found Supply.
A smile tugged across his lips and pushed the dial button.
~I~I~
The cold air almost burned. Ichigo's lungs struggled to drag in drought after drought of the chilled winter air and he forced his legs to keep going even though they were complaining at the stress. He was alone on the track now. A few other guys and a giggling group of girls were there when he first arrived, but they'd long since capitulated to the chill and the setting sun. Ichigo stopped counting the laps after nine.
The clouds were pregnant with water – it was cold enough that it could easily be snow. If he stayed out, Ishida would bitch at him for tracking water into the room. If Ishida even acknowledged that he was there at all. Since their fight, Ishida ignored him altogether, and fuck, what kind of fight was that? All Ichigo had done was try to give the ungrateful bastard a neck massage!
He heard the sound of pounding feet coming up behind him and ignored it, concentrating on the upcoming turn. Running was calming; he'd always had legs for running. Sometimes he wondered why he never even considered going in for track.
"So whad'dya do?"
Ichigo nearly tripped on his own feet and glared over at Renji. The man was dressed in a white and blue track suit. The contrast of the white against the brooding sky made his skin seem even warmer and his hair even brighter.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"No one punishes themselves this hard just 'cus," Renji joked. He was keeping up easily, his breath coming out in even mists. It made Ichigo more conscious of how short his own breath was. He couldn't feel the tip of his nose and his calves were on fire.
"Just easier to think this way," Ichigo muttered.
Renji ran with him in silence for another half lap before speaking again. "You and Ishida seem like..." Ichigo turned to glare at him and Renji held up both hands. "Sorry, just saying – you two seem like you're ready to take out each other's throats."
"It's not my fault!" Ichigo snapped. "Ishida is just... Ishida!"
"Right. You wanna switch me rooms, then?"
"What? No! Ishida just needs to stop being..." Words lost him and he closed his stride to an angry fast walk. His knees felt like jelly.
"Stop being...Ishida?" Renji supplied. He pushed his hands into his pockets. The track suit swished loudly in the silence that followed. Ichigo felt his irritation building back up and stormed through another half lap. He was angry at the whole situation, though at that moment he was mostly angry at Renji for intruding and pointing out his own stupidity.
That was the root of the problem, wasn't it? Ishida was Ishida. Insufferable control-freak who had never liked Ichigo in the first place and now they were being crammed into a dorm room that was barely bigger than Ichigo's room at home. Tempers ran high between roommates at the best of times, and Ichigo and Ishida were like oil and fire at a distance. Apparently they were fire and lighter fluid in close quarters.
He finally slowed to a reasonable walk and fleetingly found himself wishing that Kawagichi-sensei was there to administer his strange torture. The bastard might be uncommonly good at causing pain, but Ichigo was sure going to be hating life once his muscles had time to process what he'd done to them.
"You better stretch," Renji commented, reminding Ichigo that he was there in the first place.
Ichigo exited the track at an angle and headed for the bleachers. Renji followed and sat next to him. A little too close; Ichigo shoved him away and dragged his leg onto the bench to stretch it out. He could feel the muscles twitching in angry protest to the treatment.
"You could heat up a whole goddamned room by yourself, you know?" Renji complained suddenly. Ichigo gave him a weird look over one shoulder and moved further away under the pretense of twisting to bring his other leg up. Renji rolled his eyes. "Just saying... you got so much damn reiatsu spilling out all over the place, you're like a space heater."
Ichigo bristled. "So!"
"So! I can't raise mine at all, even for that, and you get to run around with a cloud of the shit all over you."
"... are you cold?" Ichigo asked, realization dawning.
Renji blushed faintly and stood up quickly. "Looks like you're gonna survive. Lemme know when you want to switch rooms, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he took off for the track and started an easy warm-up.
Ichigo shrugged and shoved the weird conversation off. He stood, shook his legs out a little and started walking back for the dorm, even though they still felt like wet noodles.
~I~I~
The light was on when Ichigo finally made it back to the room. Climbing the stairs was probably the most agonizing thing he'd done in months. His chest was still heaving from the effort and it made him angry. He was out of shape, kept out of the loop, and stuck with an obnoxious roommate who hated him – worse, ignored him- and there was nothing he could do about any of it. If there was anything in the world he hated it was feeling powerless.
He was already bracing himself to be ignored when he pushed the door open. Ishida sat at his desk with his back turned to the door. He was dressed in a gray long-sleeved tee shirt that stretched across his strangely broad shoulders. Fluffy blue slippers peeked out from beneath the hem of his soft blue flannel pants.
Ichigo didn't know why, but it was the goddamned fluffy slippers that got him. He threw his bag down hard. Ishida's hand paused over his homework. His body tensed, but he didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge that Ichigo was even there, that the noise was in anyway unusual in an empty room.
"Goddamnit, Ishida! When are you going to talk to me for fuck's sake?" Ichigo exploded.
Ishida remained impassive, but Ichigo saw his hand tightening on the pencil. The sound of the graphite scratching across the paper picked back up. The noise was going to drive Ichigo insane.
"I'm sorry I dared to touch you, okay? This is stupid! We're not kids! You can't keep ignoring me like this! It's... stupid!"
"I am not ignoring you," Ishida finally growled. His jaw was tight and the words barely escaped the snap of his teeth. "I just have nothing to say to you." He straightened up and nodded to himself, like that solved all the mysteries of the universe.
"Ishida..." Ichigo lowered his voice to keep from sounding like he was pleading. He couldn't fathom why it was so important that Ishida thaw out and talk to him. Maybe he was insane. Maybe he was homesick and just missed all the noise and ruckus his father and sisters caused. Should have stopped at 'insane,' he told himself, but it didn't change the facts around at all. He felt trapped in the room with the oppressive weight of Ishida's disregard threatening to strangle him.
"If you don't have something productive to say, I would appreciate it if you stopped talking," Ishida said finally. He had a smooth voice that reminded Ichigo of the feeling of ice beneath his feet, that heart-stopping moment of panic between slipping and hitting the ground.
"We have to stop this."
Ishida slammed his hands on the desk and pushed himself up. The pencil creaked faintly between his fingers. "Kurosaki, I don't know what impression you've gotten over the last two years, but we are not friends. We are not even friendly. We are enemies who were forced into cooperation. We are not teammates, and you sure as hell have no right to talk to me like we're in some kind of ridiculous relationship gone cold!"
He spun finally so Ichigo could see the angry flash of his eyes. "The fact that we have been shoved into the same room is an insane cosmic lapse of judgment, and I would appreciate it if you would at least be cognizant of the fact that I don't like you. I don't want to be around you. I don't want you to speak to me, I don't want you to touch me. I want you to be quiet and go about your business so I can go about mine! That is all, Kurosaki! Have I spelled it out well enough, or do you still have questions? I'm happy to explain it in smaller words if you like!"
His chest was heaving and Ichigo felt like he'd been socked in the gut. "You still think we're enemies?"
Ishida threw his hands into the air. "Spirits of my ancestors preserve me! Yes, Kurosaki! We've never been anything but!"
"That's not true."
"Yes, it-"
"NO!" Ichigo crowded into his space. "It's not! You didn't have to save me after the Menos Grande that first time. You didn't have come to Soul Society with us. I remember the way you looked at me when Inoue was healing me after Aizen left. I remember, Ishida! You didn't have to eat lunch with us at school, you didn't have tag along through all the bullshit the last two years. You didn't have to come to this school with us at all!"
"So what?" Ishida clenched his jaw and took a step away from Ichigo. "Step away from me, Kurosaki, or I swear..."
"You swear, what? You'll hit me? Hurt me? You can't even stand to touch me!"
"What is the matter with you? Do you even hear yourself?"
"We were friends, Ishida! Tell me what happened to make you hate me again!" He backed Ishida into the corner and planted both hands on either side of him. This game they were playing had to end somewhere, and Ichigo decided it was going to end there.
"Get away from me, Kurosaki!" For all that his voice lowered to a dangerous growl, his hands stayed balled at his sides.
"Not until you tell me-"
"I'm switching rooms!" Ishida snapped. "At the term, I'm going to transfer to Tokyo University. Get away from me now!"
Ichigo was stunned enough that his hands fell away, but he didn't step back. "Why?"
"Stop acting like a jilted lover, Kurosaki! Go find yourself a new pet project. I'm done being your experiment. Now. Move."
Ishida pushed past him. He got two feet away before Ichigo caught up. He spun and grabbed Ishida's wrist.
"The best med program in the country is here. Why would you go to Tokyo U?" Ichigo hauled him back when Ishida fought to get his wrist free. The man looked almost... panicked. The expression was enough to actually concern Ichigo.
Ishida finally broke away and cradled his right wrist to his chest like it was broken. From his pained expression, Ichigo worried that maybe he had broken it...
"Learn how to control yourself!" Ishida hissed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you-"
"You hurt me just by breathing!" Ishida snapped. His eyes were flashing angrily.
The words stung, biting deeper than they should; Ichigo always thought he was immune to this kind of verbal abuse. Heavens knew he went through enough of the same when he was growing up.
"If you don't get a hold of your damn reiatsu, you're going to start hurting a lot more people than just me!" Ishida continued heatedly. From the shocked look that crossed his face immediately, he hadn't meant to say it.
"...What?"
"Forget it!" Ishida turned to run. He made it to the door before Ichigo caught him. Ichigo held a hand against the door and caught Ishida's arm again. "Stop!" Ishida yelled, but it sounded more like a plea.
"Tell me what you're talking about!"
"I SAID STOP!"
"I'll let you go, if you just tell me-"
Ishida bit down on his lip and squeezed his eyes closed. His knees gave out and Ichigo caught him automatically. The Quincy made a sound that came suspiciously close to a whimper and then the room was cast in the soft glow of his bow. Ichigo hastily shoved Ishida's arm away and stared at it. Thinner and shorter than he remember, the bow pulsed and seemed to fight to grow, twisting and shuddering.
Ichigo let his arm go and the bow faded immediately. The door opened a moment later and Ishida was gone.
